


Promise (When It’s Cold Outside)

by luninosity



Series: The Epic Universe of Porn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, and Love [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: All The Comfort Ever, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Love, M/M, Memories, Porn With Plot, Protectiveness, Spanking, Trust, protective!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overall: well, the title is the Epic Universe of Porn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, and Love for a reason! </p>
<p>In this first part, there's sex in Michael's hotel room, spanking, Michael making discoveries about what James enjoys, early suggestions of consensual BDSM themes, and some hints about less consensual events in James's past...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise (When It’s Cold Outside)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look, it's the first time I ever tried to write porn! It ended up with all these _emotions,_ somehow...
> 
> Title from Eve 6’s “Promise”: _why you gotta keep the fan on high when it’s cold outside?/ just wanna let you know that I’m still a fan, get it?_

The first time, it happened by accident.

It’d been a long day of shooting. They’d spent most of it tackling each other and rolling around in cold damp sand, and Michael had been exhausted only halfway through, and had watched James get quieter and quieter, never a good sign considering how much James liked words, and he’d pretty much given up on any chance of James wandering over to his hotel room later that night for martinis or anything else, at that point.

That thought, the realization that James might not want him tonight, had lodged in his chest with an unexpected heaviness. It felt a lot like disappointment.

Which didn’t make sense, really. Yes, they’d been sleeping together—well, having incredible, mind-blowing sex, not so much sleeping; the euphemism was terribly inadequate, he decided—for about two weeks now, since the day James had looked at him sideways, walking off the strip club set, with an unspoken invitation in the curve of those lips, and Michael had kissed him for the first time in the hotel elevator, thrilled and surprised and about two seconds away from pulling off all of their clothing as they’d tumbled out into the hallway.

And yes, he smiled sometimes, thinking about the way that unruly hair felt in his hands, or the way James laughed, occasionally, in the immediate afterglow of an orgasm, as if he couldn’t quite believe how happy he was, or just when he caught James glancing up at him and smiling, too. All those things were true. But still, it was just sex. He had to remember that. Not anything else.

And it wasn’t even every night, as much as he might’ve liked that; one or both of them ended up too tired too often for that. And they hadn’t made any commitments. No promises. No reason, therefore, for disappointment to turn up and sit atop his heart like an uninvited leaden weight.

But then James had glanced at him, after they’d gotten back to the hotel, both still covered in sand and salt-spray stickiness and trying to touch as few surfaces as possible in their shared elevator, and had lifted speculative eyebrows and started to grin. Michael knew that particular expression very well by now, and suddenly all the tiredness had melted away in the slow promising heat of anticipation, and when James said, “Shower first, then your room, ten minutes?” Michael had grinned back, and said, “Yes.”

Their hotel rooms had pink curtains and orange carpet, and Michael would’ve wondered about the sanity of the interior designer if he’d had room left in his brain for any other thoughts, but now it was ten minutes later and he was occupied with the most important aspect of his room, namely the fact that James was in it.

More specifically, the fact that James was naked, and doing his best to make sure that Michael ended up naked within the next thirty seconds, too.

“You could help.”

“This is more fun.” And it was fun. Everything with James was fun. Sometimes Michael still caught himself watching James with amazement. How had he ended up with someone who, with a smile, could make the entire world smile back at him? James could’ve had anyone, anyone he wanted, ever, but he wanted Michael. Astonishing. Fantastic. Almost unbelievable, except that James was here, with him.

“I think you’re thinking too much,” James observed, and Michael’s pants disappeared.

“I think—” Whatever he’d been going to say vanished, lost in the sensation of James’s mouth on his cock, tongue and teeth and talented lips. He tried not to push too hard, tried to be gentle, but oh, god, that felt amazing and he couldn’t help moving. James didn’t seem to mind, relaxing into the weight of Michael’s hand on his head, taking a breath and then sliding deeper, carefully, and Michael’s desperate thrusts were probably bruising his throat, and he tried to stop—what if James couldn’t breathe?—but James put a hand on his hip and held him in place.

“Wait,” he managed to gasp after a second, and James pulled back and looked up at him, and Michael almost came just from that, from the sight of James on his knees, lips wet and eyes ocean-blue with desire. But they couldn’t be done yet. For one thing, he had to make this good for James, too; and for another, James would mock him forever if he couldn’t last longer than a minute.

“Everything all right, then?” James looked entirely too smug.

“You,” Michael told him. “Bed. Now.” Thank god no one ever questioned why they always wanted king-sized beds.

“Not going to argue with that.” James hopped to his feet, and he still looked far too proud of himself, so when he leaned over to fish the lube out of hiding in the bedside table, Michael smacked him on the ass.

He might’ve been prepared for James to yelp in surprise, or try to kick him, or just grin and tell him to put his hands to better uses. He wasn’t quite prepared for the little gasp he got in response, or the way James lifted his hips, just for a second, like an invitation.

They both stopped moving.

He left his hand on James’s hip, and James, still bent over the bed, turned his head to peek at Michael, carefully. He was blushing, which, Michael realized, was decidedly unusual, because they’d done quite a few other things—hell, James had just been doing certain other things—in bed, and James had never batted an eye at any of them.

He ran his hand, gently, across smooth curves, across scatterings of freckles like constellations. James shivered.

“Really?”

“Maybe. Yes. Not weird?”

“No.” And who cared if it was? He really just wanted to hear James make that sound again. “Can I…”

“Yes.”

He did it a little harder this time. Pinkness bloomed across pale skin, after. The shape of a handprint. His handprint, on James’s skin. “More?”

“Yes.”

More. Something dark and hot and shockingly possessive had woken up inside of him, at that sight. At the noises James was making now, little whimpers and cries of pleasure—and they _were_ of pleasure, he could tell—into the bedsheets. At the feeling of skin growing warm against his hand.

James made a slightly different sound, suddenly, and then whispered his name.

“Too hard?”

“No…”

Almost, though. He could hear it in James’s voice, in the slight shakiness of his accent. “Enough, then.”

James nodded, not protesting, and Michael leaned over and plucked the lube out of his unresisting hand. “Do you want—”

“Yes _please_.”

“All right.” When he moved fingers, searching for one spot in particular, James pushed back against him, spreading those long legs a little wider.

“Slowly, James. We’re not in a hurry.” He could feel the heat from newly-tender skin all around his hand. He’d done that. It made his head spin.

“Oh, maybe _you’re_ not…”

“Are you?”

“Ah…”

Michael moved his other hand, curious, and made a discovery: not only astonishing hardness, but wetness, spilling eagerly across the bed beneath them, leaking from James’s cock. James actually cried out, softly, into the accepting sheets, when Michael brushed one fingertip across his tip, feeling the slick evidence of all that desire.

He paused for a second, because he had to; it was that or yank his fingers away and finish everything here and now. “You—just from that, you almost—you could’ve—”

James curled his fingers into white fabric. “Yes...still all right?”

“ _Me_?”

“You. All of this. Is this okay?”

“Next time,” Michael told him, “we’re doing that. Just you, and my hand. And I want to make you come without either of us touching your cock.”

“Oh, god,” James said into the sheets.

“No, just me.”

James tried to kick him for that. Which he didn’t mind, actually; he didn’t want James to be too passive, after all.

But he still couldn’t let James get away with that, of course, so he paused what he was doing and moved the fingers away almost completely, and used his own legs to stretch James’s even farther apart against the side of the bed.

“Hey!”

“Which one of us gets to be in charge, here, James?” He heard his own voice with some astonishment—really? had he just said that?—but the words just came out. As it were.

But James, after a second of silence, relaxed beneath him, and said, quietly, “You.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Michael said desperately, unconsciously echoing James’s earlier comment, and then, “don’t move,” and replaced his fingers with his aching cock, and felt James open up around him, accepting him, making a small helpless sound when Michael slid all the way home inside him.

“Good?”

“Yes…”

“Good.” He could feel the warmth of his own handprints, when he moved, and when he pushed a little harder, deliberately, he heard James moan into the sheets.

And that sound was amazing, everything he’d never known he wanted, but somehow still not quite enough, not quite perfect. He needed to see blue eyes looking back at him for this, he realized, and so he stopped, and pulled away. James made a half-surprised, half-annoyed sound. “Where’re you going?”

“Nowhere. But I want you on the bed.”

“You want—oh. _Oh_.” James breathed in, and out, and turned around, carefully, easing himself down onto the bed. Michael stared as reddened skin met white sheets, and wondered how the crisp fabric felt, if James could feel it across every line, every centimeter of every handprint. Hell, _he_ could feel it. And he was only watching.

James raised both eyebrows at him. “See something you like?”

Michael growled, pushed him back against the sheets, lined them up, and thrust in. James shut his eyes, abruptly, and then opened them again, breathing now a little ragged. Michael hesitated, watching the sweep of eyelashes. “Too fast?” Probably.

“No…this is good. You’re good.” James grinned. “Though, you told _me_ to go slowly, earlier.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” He stopped moving entirely, just to make the point. James glared. It wasn’t very threatening, considering their respective positions. “Sorry, were you complaining?”

James muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and eyed the fluffy pillow next to him as if he were contemplating violence with it.

“Language, James. Behave yourself.”

James considered this for a second. “What happens if I don’t?”

“Do you really want to ask that question right now? At this particular moment?” That first one _had_ been a bit fast, he decided, watching James’s expression when he moved again, feeling his own hips collide with newly sensitive places. Slowly, then. For as long as he could manage it, which might not, unfortunately, be very long.

“Ah…maybe not. Maybe next time, though. If you meant that.”

“I definitely meant that.” If James kept making such interesting offers, _slowly_ was going to be a much more difficult proposition.

“Oh, good…and will you hurry up?” James wrapped both hands around his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. “Sometime tonight would be fantastic. You won’t hurt me, I’m not that fragile, I promise you.”

“I told you not to be impatient,” Michael informed him, and used one hand—the one not occupied elsewhere—to pin both of James’s wrists to the bed above his head.

James could’ve gotten out of the hold, of course—not as if there was any real force behind it, and James, as Michael knew intimately, was very flexible—but instead he just smiled, and didn’t try to move his hands.

“That too?”

“Oh, definitely. Still not weird?”

“You’ve no idea how many of my fantasies involve you in this position, do you?”

“Really?” James sounded breathless, and happy, and intrigued.  “Can you give details? Because I could—”

“Did I say you could talk? I think you’re not allowed to talk. For now.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” James said, wide-eyed, and went silent.

And Michael held onto his self-control with herculean effort, because that—James listening to him, doing as told, fuck, _obeying_ him—that was the best thing he’d ever, ever seen.

He moved his other hand, tightening his grip on James’s cock, and James shuddered, arching his back, breathing in little desperate pants now. Close, he thought. He wanted to watch James explode for him, beneath him, from this. But…maybe not yet.

“And you’re not allowed to come until I say you can.” He heard a gasp, and wondered suddenly if that had been too much, but when he looked, James nodded, even though he was biting his lip so hard that Michael could see little indentations in soft flesh.

And that was it, that little sign of desperation pushing him over the edge he’d been on for so long, and he moved without deciding to, once, twice, three times, and the ecstasy caught up with him, fireworks bursting through his veins, under his skin, and the world went white and brilliant, just for a moment.

He blinked, and focused on James again. James, who was shaking beneath him, wide-eyed, and whispering, “Please,” the word polished into music by need, by that accent, strengthened almost out of recognition by desire.

Michael whispered back, “I thought I told you not to talk, maybe I shouldn’t let you…” and watched those bitten lips form a shocked and absolutely silent _oh_ , and he wondered where the hell this was coming from, he’d never thought of himself as a particularly commanding person in bed, but this, _this_ , James strung out and shivering with want, so completely his and clearly, _clearly_ enjoying it…He wanted this. He wanted _more_. If James wanted more.

James made a noise that was almost a sob, looking up at him, and Michael leaned down and breathed, “All right, now,” and felt James come apart around him.

He held on to James through the aftermath, until they both stopped trembling with it, and then rolled them over so that he could pull James on top of him, wrapped up in his arms. James put his head on Michael’s shoulder, and tangled their legs together, and sighed, contentedly, and Michael ran a hand down his back, across the smooth planes of muscles, down to the curve of skin, still hot under his exploring fingertips. James shivered, just a little, at the touch.

“All right?” He meant to ask _Did I hurt you?,_ but he couldn’t make himself say those words, that phrase, out loud.

“Wonderful.” James did sound all right, at least; his breath warmed Michael’s skin, where the words drifted past. “That was…incredible, in fact. You were incredible. What about you? You did—I mean, I know you did, I was there, but—it was all right, for you?”

Michael left his hand where it was, and squeezed, gently. “What do you think?”

“Oh…I think you enjoyed yourself. At least, I hope you did.” James lifted his head to meet Michael’s gaze. He was blushing again, faint waves of embarrassed happiness under the freckles. Michael found this frighteningly adorable. James was never shy, not about anything, and he’d always liked that fact; but apparently they’d found something that could make James blush, and he liked that, too.

James glanced away, studying Michael’s bare shoulder as if it might reply, and added, a little wistfully, “I really would like you to say it. Just…reassure me, would you?”

“All right, then.” He used his other hand to tip James’s chin up, bringing them nose to nose. James looked at him hopefully, and Michael wanted to kiss him, but James needed reassurance first, and that took priority. “That was incredible, yes. And amazing. And unbelievable. Not something I’ve done before, but something I’d be very happy to do again. With you. If you want to.”

“ _If_?” James echoed, and pounced on Michael’s lips when they stopped moving, enthusiastically closing the centimeters between them. “Yes. Please. Now?”

Oh how he wanted to say yes to that. But… “Yes, then. But not now.”

“Oh…all right…why not?”

“Come here. And don’t look like that, I’m not turning you down, I promise. Just not so soon.” He kissed the tip of James’s nose, because he knew it would get James to make a not-really-annoyed face at him, which it did. “You have a very attractive nose.”

“I do not, and I’m sleeping with a crazy person,” James muttered, but relaxed, after a second, into Michael’s encircling arms. “All right, why not?” This time the question sounded less hesitant, and more honestly curious.

So he answered, honestly. “Because I’m afraid you’re going to feel this, later, already—” he saw James open his mouth to protest, and demonstrated the accuracy of this statement with a carefully-placed final tap of his hand, which earned a gasp despite the lack of force behind it—“and I’m not doing anything that might hurt you.”

“You—”

“That’s not negotiable, James.” He rubbed the sore spot, gently, by way of apology. “Still all right?”

“Yes. Fine. I’m not really in favor of you hurting me, either, you realize. Or not that much, anyway.” James kissed him again, speculatively. “I’ve not done this before, either, you know. Well…no, that’s not exactly true. I tried, once, with one other person. When I first realized I liked, um, these things. But that didn’t—I haven’t wanted this, with anyone, for a very long time. Not seriously. But it was different, with you. It was good.”

“You know I haven’t done this ever. But you want to.” He did wonder, momentarily, about what exactly _not seriously_ meant. About what James _had_ tried, in the past, and why that hadn’t worked, and what James would be interested in trying with him now. For that matter, how serious was James expecting this to get? Were there things he should know? Guidelines? He might have to do some research. And they should probably talk about all of this at some point.

“Very much so. Yes. With you. Are you sure you want to, though? You’re looking very pensive, all of a sudden.”

“Sorry. Yes. I do. Want to, I mean. I was just thinking…are there rules for this? Things you want me to do? Or not do?”

“Hmm.” James curled up against him, thoughtfully. “There should be rules for this, that’s sort of the idea, isn’t it? But no, I don’t have anything in mind, specifically. Research, perhaps? We can talk about what we want?”

“I was thinking that, yes…” Wayward wisps of James’s hair, where they brushed against his face, smelled like sweat and hotel cotton and the apple-scented shampoo that Michael always, quite appropriately, mocked. Familiar. Comfortable. He breathed in, quietly, and hoped James wouldn’t notice.

“See, I _can_ read your mind.”

“No, you can’t.” He was pretty certain not, actually. He wanted to be thinking about research and the way his hand still tingled with the memories of what they’d just done and whether they could do it again in the morning or if James would like something else instead, and he _was_ thinking all those things, really, but those ideas were somehow muted under the odd domestic happiness of the moment.

“Yes, I can. And you’re free to try the things you’re thinking about tomorrow. I’m a bit too tired for more at the moment.” James yawned. “Can I stay here, tonight? I’d very much like to not have to move.”

“Of course you can.” That wasn’t anything new; more often than not they ended up sharing whichever bed they’d fallen into, anyway, after they’d ended up worn out and happy and unwilling to wander off to coldly separate rooms.

What was new, though, was how oddly relieved he felt, hearing the question. Knowing that James _wanted_ to stay.

He wanted James to stay, too, he thought, and not just because it was more convenient, or because he had plans for the morning, even though he definitely did have plans now. He wanted James to stay, and wake up next to him, and never feel the need to ask him that question, ever again.

“Thank you.” James put his head on Michael’s shoulder, where his hair could cheerfully tickle Michael’s ear all night. Michael kissed the top of his head, impulsively, because that was the spot he could reach without moving, and James blinked at him from under all the hair, sleepily.

“What was that for?”

“James?”

“Hmm?”

“I want you to stay.”

“Yes, you said as much, I just heard you…”

“No. I mean yes, tonight, of course. But not just tonight. Every night. If you want to.” He tried not to hold his breath, waiting for the answer.

James lifted his head to look him in the eye, without properly bothering to sit up, which meant that his chin dug rather painfully into Michael’s collarbone. Michael opted not to mention this, even though it actually did hurt.

“Every night?”

“Yes. If you want.”

“I’m warning you now, you’ll wake up with no blankets. Every single morning.”

“I can live with that.” He’d never really minded James stealing all the blankets, anyway.

“Then yes. Of course. Every night. Until you get completely bored with me, and kick me out.”

“Not going to happen.” He leaned forward to kiss James one more time, for emphasis. Because he could hear the doubt under the flippancy, and he wanted to remove all of that uncertainty, forever. “Not ever.” He knew that the way he knew his own name, an unquestioned truth, a part of himself. It just _was_.

And he watched James start to smile, sudden and glorious, like an unexpected sunrise, hearing all of that. Believing him.

“Really yes, then. Always. Can we sleep now? Because if you do have plans for the morning, I’d like to be awake for them.”

“Ah. Somnophilia definitely against the rules, then?”

“I suspect I should be worried that you know that word, and yes. I don’t mind you waking me up that way—which I know you know—but I’d prefer to be conscious if we’re going to have the best sex ever, again.”

“So…all right, first rule: you have to be awake. And, um, capable of saying yes—or no—to everything.” He hadn’t meant to make that statement quite so serious, but the thought of James not being able to give consent, for _any_ reason, sent chills along his spine, scampering up and down and leaving icy footprints. “Agreed?”

James looked at him for a second, with an expression Michael couldn’t ever remember having seen in those eyes before. Something like surprise, interlaced with an odd yielding warmth, and affection, and assent. “Agreed.”

“All right, then. Also…best _ever_?”

“As if you need the reassurance, but yes.” James yawned again. “Can we continue the discussion of rules in the morning, then?”

Michael very much wanted to come up with some clever answer to that, but his brain kept repeating, gleefully, the phrase _best sex ever!_ , so he just managed, “Yes, we can,” and then kissed James one more time, tasting the tiny bruises where James had bitten his lower lip, earlier. Hopefully, he thought, that would sufficiently convey his enthusiasm.

He watched James lick his lips, after being kissed, and then fall asleep, still wrapped up in Michael’s arms and smiling.

The morning, he decided, couldn’t possibly come soon enough.


End file.
